


Glitter is terrible for the environment, you know

by ComplimentaryCuller



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Antichrist powers used frivolously, Aziraphale says fuck Gabriel!, de-angelization (not Falling), de-demonization (not Rising), malicious use of glitter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-07 15:50:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21460579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ComplimentaryCuller/pseuds/ComplimentaryCuller
Summary: Adam cocked his head at his godfathers as they finished telling their story of how they’d daringly escaped their deaths over tea. It was a ripping story, very dramatic and clever of them, of course, but-“Why didn’t you just ask me?” he asked, confused.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 131





	Glitter is terrible for the environment, you know

Adam cocked his head at his godfathers as they finished telling their story of how they’d daringly escaped their deaths over tea. It was a ripping story, very dramatic and clever of them, of course, but-

“Why didn’t you just ask me?” he asked, confused.

They looked as confused as he was. 

“For what, dear boy?” Aziraphale asked, setting his tea down on the coffee table.

“To make you immune,” Adam said. “I could’ve done it. Why didn’t you ask?”

Crowley took off his glasses, leaning forward from his seat on the couch. “You’re a kid, Adam,” he said, looking into Adam's eyes. “We couldn’t just ask you to save our skins like that when we’d just been trying to kill you. And it’s not your job to protect us. We said we’d protect humanity, not the other way around.”

Adam pursed his lips like the bratty 11-year-old he was as he ate a biscuit. “That’s stupid,” he said around the biscuit. “You helped me stand up to my birth father, it’d be the least I could do.” Satan had been… scary, for a little boy like that, but having them at his back had helped, even if they wouldn’t’ve actually been much help. And they’d  _ meant _ to be there for him as a kid, even if they’d messed up, so that counted for something.

Adam Decided, in that very straightforward way of children, nodded sharply to himself, and reality listened to him.

Crowley spat out his tea at the wash of power, coughing as he doubled over from the feeling of his Essence changing at a fundamental level. Aziraphale reacted almost identically, covering his mouth politely as he hacked up a metaphorical lung.

“Adam,” Crowley said hoarsely, “what the  _ fuck?” _

“Dear!” Aziraphale said, scandalized.

“What?! He’s a growing boy, he has the internet, he knows what curse words are!” Crowley said. “And this is an appropriate situation for it! You can’t tell me it isn’t!”

“It isn’t!” Aziraphale said. “He did a very kind thing, we should be thanking him!”

“Well, you should test it first,” Adam said, taking another biscuit. “If it didn’t work that’d be good to know,” he said, spraying crumbs.

Crowley swallowed, and nodded at Aziraphale, who waved his hand over his tea.

Pure, crystal clear water, reeking of holiness.

Carefully, carefully, Aziraphale fretting and Adam watching closely, Crowley let a single drop of it land on his pinky.

He was fine.

The tension fled the room in a wave, even as Aziraphale willed his hand on fire, Crowley lacing his fingers with Aziraphale in wonder.

“Adam,” he croaked, not looking away from their intertwined fingers, “thank you. Thank you so much.”

“Indeed, dear boy,” Aziraphale echoed, blue eyes fixed on Crowley’s.

“Suppose we could get married in a church now, angel,” Crowley said, awed.

Adam cleared his throat loudly, slurping his tea as the couple jolted and remembered the other person in the room.

“Anyway,” Crowley said, not bright red only by way of turning off his vascular system. “How’s school? You’re going into, what? Year six? Seven?” 

“Seven,” Adam said. “Me and Brian and Pepper and Wensleydale are all going to be in the same classes, and we’ve got a new art teacher, and she’s supposed to be cool, but History’s gonna…”

* * *

Mr. and Mrs. Young came to pick Adam up at 6 o’clock sharp, the couple seeing them off with a tin of biscuits and their numbers programmed into Adam’s phone, and they closed up the shop, still shocked.

“Well,” Crowley said, “that was… eventful. I’m going to bed.” And then he turned into a snake and went to sleep right there on the doormat.

Aziraphale gathered the serpent up in his arms, arranged him on the couch so he wouldn’t get kinks in his coils, and then fixed himself a cup of tea and brandy and settled into  his collection of the complete works of Shakespeare.

* * *

A week later, they were both done recuperating, Aziraphale having reread a good chunk of his collection and Crowley having properly slept on this news, and the two were feeding ducks at the pond, tossing little bits of lettuce to the water fowl, when both of them were shocked rudely to awareness by way of buckets of cold water being splashed on their heads.

“What,” Crowley spluttered, turning on the shocked ethereal and occult beings in anger,  ** _“the FUCK?!?”_ **

“Gabriel,” Beelzebub buzzed, fisting their hands in the angel’s collar and dragging him down to eye level while simultaneously not taking their eyes off the couple,  _ “YOU ZZZAID THEY WERE ZWITCHING!!! ZZZO WHY IZZN’T IT WORKING?!?” _

Aziraphale took out a cigarette- he rarely smoked, but it served his purposes quite nicely sometimes, as sharing a cigarette was a good way to start a conversation with some poor lost soul- and lit it with Hellfire from his fingers, shaking out one for Crowley, who lit it the same way. 

Crowley took a deep drag, holding it for a moment and then blowing the smoke into the faces of their ex-bosses. 

“Fuck you,” he said, leaning against Aziraphale’s solid body carelessly. 

“Yes, indeed,” Aziraphale said dryly, putting a hand around Crowley’s bony hip. “You’re quite the prat, Gabriel, I never much cared for you. And you’re terrible at pretending to be human.”

“I think,” Crowley drawled over Gabriel’s- still hunched by way of Beelzebub’s grasp- offended gasp, “that it’d be really fun and sexy if you all left us the fuck alone, for real this time. Also, my genius was wasted on both of your lot, and I lied in all of my reports.”

“Very fun and sexy of you, dear,” Aziraphale said, the living equivalent of ‘are ya winning son?’.

“Tell your friends,” Crowley hissed, brandishing a miracled can of Raid at Beelzebub.

They yelped, letting go of Gabriel’s collar in their haste to get away from something that could harm their precious flies, just as Aziraphale miracled industrial sized tubs of micro-fine glitter just above the angel and demon’s heads, coating them head to toe in tiny glittering particles- neon orange for Gabriel, garish pink for Beelzebub. Making  _ sure _ to clash with their color schemes.

“Fuck, that’s so  _ petty  _ of you,” Crowley said soppily, throwing himself into kissing the (ex)angel.

Aziraphale smirked as their ex-bosses scrambled away, disgusted and afraid, and then devoted himself to kissing his serpent.

The ducks quacked for more lettuce, and felt very slighted when they were ignored.


End file.
